


Natural Law

by trill_gutterbug



Category: Black Sails
Genre: Anal Sex, Dorks in Love, In Which Trill Continues to Name Fics after Star Trek Episodes Because Why the Eff Not, M/M, Set Some Nebulous Time Between S3 & 4 I Guess?, Some Internalised Homophobia/Sex Shame
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-04
Updated: 2017-06-04
Packaged: 2018-11-09 02:21:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,379
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11094888
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/trill_gutterbug/pseuds/trill_gutterbug
Summary: They've been fucking for three weeks.It is calamitous. They have performed every manner of indecency on one another in such a short span of time, Flint wonders if there will be lasting damage of some variety. He has never been so thoroughly exhausted in so comprehensive a manner.Except for one missing thing...





	Natural Law

They’ve been fucking for three weeks. A frenzy of hunger for each other, twice and sometimes thrice a day, hands in each other’s breeches and mouths on each other’s cocks. In Flint’s cabin, in the hold behind the water barrels, on the flimsiest of pretexts on land whenever possible. Flint’s head spins with it; he is distracted in a way he hasn’t been for nigh on a decade. It has always been easy for him to ignore his male appetites in a way most other men clearly cannot, and he has prided himself on that ability with a quiet relief. But no longer. He has been reduced to savagery. When Silver catches his eye across the galley at supper, he must excuse himself to the deck for air. Doing paperwork is an excuse for fantasising in private, shifting restlessly in his chair and making no headway on his drafts. The sound of Silver’s voice raised from the bow makes his heart pound. The smell of him is torture, the brush of his hand agony. 

It is calamitous. They have performed every manner of indecency on one another in such a short span of time, Flint wonders if there will be lasting damage of some variety. He has never been so thoroughly exhausted in so comprehensive a manner.

Except for one missing thing. One vital lacking performance, of which there has been no hint, no acknowledgment, except the three separate occasions Silver had fucked him between the thighs from behind and it made Flint tremble with desire in a way nothing else had. He used to love being fucked properly by Thomas, who was extremely thorough about it and had taught him the right way to prepare. But after Thomas’ death, Flint had never intended to be buggered again, and never touched himself in such a fashion when he masturbated. It felt wrong, mocking, enjoying alone the things Thomas had shown him, that had been so specific between them. 

But Flint has begun thinking about it again, remembering how greatly he had liked it before. There is something dark and hateful in him about it still, a reflexive shame acquired by osmosis in childhood and reinforced directly by the trajectory of his adult life and career. Thomas had elevated it to lovemaking, transported the illegal act itself beyond the baseness of carnal commerce and into a transcendent expression of pleasure only possible through the purity of his intent. Ever since, the idea of performing it with anyone else, anyone less worthy, had knotted Flint’s stomach with sickness and dread, a creeping mortification. 

But the tender hot swamp of his feelings for Silver has filled him to brimming, flushing out memories long subsumed, reminding Flint of the way he had begun to crave being fucked, the deep raw pleasure and the surrender of it. He starts touching himself with intent when alone (which is rarely, dictated by both the confines of a small ship and the torments of infatuation), checking first to see if his body remembers how to enjoy the attention, recalling how Thomas had insisted on days of coaxing preparation before the act itself.  _ “You wouldn’t resolve one day to take up wrestling and immediately seek out the largest and fiercest champion upon whom to test yourself, would you?”  _ he’d said smiling to James, leaning over him on one hand, the other doing unspeakable things below the covers. James had gasped a laugh and teased with a trembling voice,  _ “Oh, the largest and fiercest, is it?”  _ and Thomas had rolled his eyes and only grinned in reply. 

Flint’s body remembers. It is unsure at first, surly with his explorations, but becomes an attentive and obedient student in short order. When he makes the suggestion to Silver, Silver is taken aback. “I hadn’t thought anyone actually enjoyed buggery,” he says, “or sought it out deliberately. I thought it an inflated myth at best, or a popular form of violation at worst.”

Flint shakes his head, but he’s embarrassed by the insinuation, that he has succumbed to the basest of rumours regarding his predilections, or has tricked himself into desiring something vile in nature. But Silver doesn’t seem appalled or unwilling, merely surprised, and his body is still warm and heavy on Flint’s, the evidence of his interest hard through his breeches against Flint’s hip. They are lying on the floor by Flint's desk, atop a blanket. Flint's suspended bed, when subjected to the rigours of fornication, turns out to have an unfortunate tendency to bang the wall in a rhythmically unsubtle way.

“Show me,” Silver murmurs, nuzzling into the curve of Flint’s neck, the backs of his fingers soothing the clenching muscles of Flint’s stomach. So Flint turns over and gets on his knees. He’s naked already, and had pressed oil into himself a quarter hour ago with careful fingers, firm in his resolve. He feels Silver sit up next to him. Silver’s hand runs the length of his spine, touches the round of his arse. He makes a deep considering noise. 

Flint looks over his shoulder. He feels hideously exposed, humiliated all at once by the animal way he is presenting himself. But Silver still seems neither revolted nor amused; his eyes are hungry and the cool touch of his rings on the inside of Flint’s thigh is a soft shock of distracting sensation. 

“You’re wet,” he says, touching one ticklish finger to the back of Flint’s balls. 

“It’s oil.” Flint drops his shoulders to the floor and buries his face in his folded arms. “I’m-- it’s ready. For you,” he mumbles. He wants to die. He clenches his teeth against the urge to say,  _ Never mind, get away from me, this is a terrible idea. _

There’s the clink of Silver’s belt, and the rustle of his breeches descending, and then his warm presence at the back of Flint’s thighs, between his knees. His hand, curious but tentative, brushes the crack of Flint’s arse. It makes Flint flinch, shivering with goosebumps. 

“Alright?” Silver asks. 

Flint nods. He can’t lift his head. He expects immediate pressure, insistent entrance, but for a long moment nothing happens. Silver is quiet behind him, the cabin warm and dim around them like a womb. Flint’s breath is loud in the space between his head and the floor. 

“I like this,” Silver says eventually. “I like you like this.”

Flint snorts. “What, spreading my legs like a whore?” Embarrassment has made him snappish. 

“Ready for me.” Silver’s voice is mild. Slowly, he rubs the length of Flint’s back, from the dip of his hips to the top of his shoulders. As always, his hands are sure and competent of Flint’s body, finding the knot at the base of his neck and knuckling it, thumb swiping the upper knob of Flint’s spine. Familiar. Tender. It unhooks something sharp in Flint’s gut, releases him all at once from the ugly tension growing cankerous there. He groans, and his cock flexes.

“Can I just put it in?” Silver asks.

Flint takes a moment to answer, his voice finding its way back from where it had retreated. “Slowly.”

The touch of it comes a second later, the blunt head of Silver’s cock right at the centre of him. It pushes, and Flint feels himself clench instinctively. Silver hesitates, holding his cock back. “Are you sure it will… fit?”

“Yes.”

“It’s just that… this seems quite small.”

“It’ll fit.”

Another push, a small careful one that goes nowhere, and stops immediately. “Are you  _ sure _ .”

Flint lifts his head. “For fuck’s sake,” he growls. “I know what the fuck I’m doing, do as I say.”

“Alright, alright.” Silver mutters something else under his breath, but he pushes again, more firm this time, and the tip of his cock slides right inside. 

Flint gasps, dropping his head back down. 

“What?” Silver demands, freezing. “Oh god, does it hurt?” His hand is squeezing at Flint’s hip, unsure whether to push away or pull closer. 

“No,” Flint says. “ _ No _ , fuck no. Keep going.”

Another inch. One more deep stretching inch. Flint groans, he can’t help it. He can feel himself clenching around Silver, his body hungry. Still unsure, but willing to be won over. 

“Oh, my god.” Silver’s hand shakes on his hip. “I-- this is--”

“Keep  _ going _ .” 

Another inch, and another, more, until Silver’s balls are touching Flint’s, his cock wedged like an iron rod as far inside as it will go. There’s a long moment in which neither of them say anything, in which Flint can hardly make himself breathe. His cock is hard between his legs, twitching with every wringing flutter of his arse. 

Silver lets out a slow shaking breath. His nails are sharp in Flint’s side. “Are you…”

“Yes,” Flint says. His voice is wrecked. “Fuck me.”

Silver groans. He withdraws what feels like a hairsbreadth and eases back in. Flint doesn’t chastise him for the reticence; he is grateful for it. There are too many sensations to make sense of, the wrongness of being full mingled with the pleasure of penetration. Silver panting and close to him in a way that Flint’s body has learned to recognize as desirable. The floor unyielding beneath his knees. The ever-present insistent terror of being discovered in a position so compromising, despite the locked door. 

“Can I--” Silver’s cock flexes inside him. Flint’s own cock responds as though they are joined by a string, like he is a marionette dangling from Silver’s fingers. 

“Go ahead,” Flint says. “Faster.” He shifts his weight onto his left shoulder so he can slide his other arm beneath his body and take his sore cock in hand. “It’s good, I can take it.”

They don’t last long. Silver finds his rhythm quickly and Flint is soon overwhelmed by the forgotten but familiar gratification of being fucked so thoroughly. It’s different from fingers, the penetration itself almost overshadowed by the visceral experience of Silver around and overtop him, his pleasure at the behest of Flint’s body. It makes him feel like a well-bred, dutiful wife providing a warm fertile place for her husband to spend himself, and it’s that thought that shocks Flint into orgasm, the sick thrill of it as much as the increasingly forceful thrusting of Silver’s cock inside him. 

He comes in his hand, milking it out of himself. The sharp internal throb of his muscles makes Silver gasp, his rhythm faltering and then renewing in vigour, the telltale staccato movement of a man on the brink of climax. He comes inside Flint with a noise like he’s been stabbed, helpless and desperate, curling down, his hot mouth panting against Flint’s spine.  

They stay locked together for a long moment, breathing hard, trembling. Flint’s wet hand drops away from himself, letting his seed drip on the floor. He feels Silver shaking, the overwrought heaving of his chest against Flint’s back. And then, finally, an exhausted withdrawal that reinvents the awkward feeling of being entered all over again, and Silver collapses on the floor. Flint mirrors him in almost the same movement, curling his leg to protect his sensitive cock from the rough blanket. 

Silver’s hair is a mess, his neck and face bright with sweat in the lamplight. His eyes are shut, his head knocked back against the floor, but he reaches with unerring certainty for Flint. Flint curls obediently into him, flush with Silver’s slick hot side, burying his face in the sharp smell of Silver’s wet armpit. He feels himself start to shiver, a cold clench in his belly that moves out into his limbs like a paralysing fever. He feels wounded.

Silver rolls onto his side, closer, curling his arm tight around Flint’s back. “Are you alright?” he whispers against the top of Flint’s head.

Flint nods. He’s not sure he’s telling the truth. He feels  _ good _ . He feels warm, loosened and battered like a tenderized side of beef. His cock is spent in a way it hasn’t been for years, as though he could simultaneously fuck six more times in a row, and never fuck again. His arse is slick and tingling, throbbing. His heart beats like a drum throughout his entire body. He is sated.

And he is frightened.

Silver kisses the side of his face, twice and three times, and then lifts him by the chin to kiss his mouth. Flint opens for it, instinctive. The stroke of Silver’s tongue is soothing rather than kindling. His mouth is slick and plush against Flint’s, gently devouring. When they part, Silver says, “That was a lot, wasn’t it?”

Flint wants to shake his head, to deny the importance of anything and everything, to withdraw and steel both his jaw and his resolve in equal measure. But instead he finds himself nodding, holding the careful intensity of Silver’s gaze. Silver’s thumb rubs the crest of his cheek. He kisses Flint’s mouth once more, brief. “Did you like it?”

Flint nods again. He shifts his legs together to feel the drip of oil and semen between them. He’d liked it a lot.

“Can we do it again later?”

Flint feels himself start to smile without meaning to. “I don’t know,” he says. His voice is rough. “Think you can get it up again so soon?”

Silver snorts. He snaps his teeth just short of Flint’s nose. “I have the stamina of an ox, thank you.”

“How’s your leg?” Flint asks, instead of responding to  _ that _ . 

Silver’s brow furrows. He reaches down between them to touch his thigh. “It’s sore, I think. It’s hard to tell right now. I feel too good.”

Flint ducks his head just enough to brush his lips through the coarseness of Silver’s beard. “I suppose if we do it again later, I’ll have to be on top.”

There’s a pause, and then Silver groans loud and long. His hands squeeze Flint’s back. “I beg you, don’t promise me things you won’t deliver.”

Flint tries to feign indignance, but can’t muster the resolve. “Why wouldn’t I deliver? I’m a man of my word, aren’t I?”

Silver doesn’t answer right away, his hands stroking idly and his eyes soft. Finally, he smiles, and touches his smile against Flint’s. “Yes,” he murmurs into Flint’s mouth. “That is certainly what you are.”

 


End file.
